


Like a Mirage

by dragontattoo75



Series: Play Series [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Puffy Nipples
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:30:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragontattoo75/pseuds/dragontattoo75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Derek sees Stiles’ chest, Derek’s not sure if he’s got any right to be so turned on. Stiles jerks his t-shirt off his torso; it’s a bloody, ripped mess, ready for the trash, and Derek’s world stops for a moment. He really can’t be judged for what happens later because . . . Stiles has puffy nipples.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Mirage

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you [Brego_Mellon_Nin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Brego_Mellon_Nin/) for being a wonderful writing partner and friend, and 35nanou for support and positivity.
> 
> Thank you Karen Ec for pre-reading and Sue273 for betaing. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Like a Mirage

 

The first time Derek sees Stiles’ chest, Derek’s not sure if he’s got any right to be so turned on. Stiles jerks his t-shirt off his torso; it’s a bloody, ripped mess, ready for the trash, and Derek’s world stops for a moment. He really can’t be judged for what happens later.

His breath stops and then starts again on its own accord just before he’s about to pass out. His head feels weirdly fuzzy yet alert, as all he sees is Stiles’ chest. His vision narrows, becoming a tunnel, with Stiles’ smooth skin and puffy nipples at the other end.

Derek’s hairy. And then we’re not talking about when he’s in wolf form! No, it started growing out of his skin in early puberty—dark and stiff—and his legs, arms and chest are covered by it.

It makes him think he’s got no right to get so turned on by Stiles’ chest—it looks like the smoothest, hair-free torso Derek’s ever laid his eyes upon, but the boy’s nipples draw Derek’s attention especially. They’re dark brown—sort of like the boy’s eyes actually—and in this warm summer night the areolas are standing out, like they’re puffy. Derek wants to study them closely, one after the other. Are they exactly alike? How would they feel under his fingers? Under his tongue? 

Derek’s heart slams against his ribs at the thought. 

What would Stiles say to his never-ending rambling? How would he sound if Derek could get him to cooperate with one or perhaps even a few of the ideas forcing themselves—one by agonizing one—into Derek’s consciousness? 

Is there a way to convince Stiles to let Derek touch his nipples? 

Would Stiles like it? 

Enjoy it?

They’re alone now on the back porch of Derek’s house. The evening spent on beating a vicious flock of seagulls, of all things. Stiles is holding his bloody (seagull blood, not his own) t-shirt in his hand, staring at Derek, who’s unable to take his eyes off the treasure that’s been hiding under all these layers of flannel, t-shirts, and hoodies all this time —who knew?

Stiles’ eyebrows are raised in question when—fucking finally—Derek’s able to force his eyes up to Stiles’ face. It’s such a pretty face, but that’s not the point, all right? It’s the chest. 

Derek takes a step closer without thinking. Stiles steps back, and falling over the first stair, lands hard on his butt on the second stair, his gaze wild.

“What?” Derek asks bewildered.

Stiles straightens up. The t-shirt’s on the porch. “Don’t what me. You know exactly what.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“You haven’t even said a thing! How am I supposed to know what what means?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Derek. You look like you wanna eat me!”

“I don’t want to eat you, Stiles,” Derek groans exasperated, ripping his hair (on his head, all right!). He’s not sure he’s ready to vocalize his thoughts just yet.

Stiles’ eyes are darting over Derek’s face, trying to solve this puzzle.

Derek forcefully meets his gaze, does not look down—not to Stiles’ chest, where two puffy nipples on the upper half look sort of like toffee candy; sweet and soft. And below his navel, a dark line pointing down to Stiles’—ah, no, Derek’s not gonna go there.

Stiles’ face—hello there, my friend. 

Stiles looks at him like Derek’s gone crazy. Perhaps he has. He just wants to have a closer look. How can he get Stiles onboard with that plan?

“Uhm,” Stiles says, eyes darting all over Derek. “You look really weird. Did the seagulls hurt you?”

Derek shakes his head in denial. Stiles looks down at his own chest then his hand comes up to try to brush away whatever he thinks Derek sees there. Fuck, he’s noticed what Derek’s focused on—his nipples!

Derek takes a step closer unconsciously and falls down on his knees. His voice is deeper than normal, when he says, with his hand lifted towards Stiles, like he’s in a desert with Stiles’ chest the last water source, “I . . . I just want to see . . .”

“What? Is there something wrong with me?” Stiles brushes harder at his chest. “Was it the seagulls?”

Derek shakes his head slowly, transfixed. He can’t take his eyes away from Stiles’ nipples now and crawls up between the boy’s outstretched legs, hearing Stiles let out a shaky question, “Derek?”

Fuck, Derek’s turned on. He can’t think anymore. He needs to touch.

“Can I?” he breathes, already stretching his fingers to Stiles’ left nipple, pointing his finger to it.

Stiles’ jaw is down on his chest as he gazes sideways and down.

“Oh, you mean my nipples?” He lets out a shaky laugh. “I know they are a bit weird looking.” He covers his nipple absentmindedly.

“No!” Derek cries, grabbing Stiles’ hand. “I want to see it.” He swallows nervously. “Can I take a closer look?”

Stiles lets out a curt laugh, embarrassed. “At my nipple?” He studies Derek’s expression. “All right. You can.” He leans back on his hands, chest sticking out for Derek’s greedy eyes.

“Fuuck . . .” Derek breathes out, adjusting himself in his jeans.

Stiles finally catches on. “Derek? Do my nipples turn you on?” His voice is unusually high. “Do you . . .” he swallows, “. . . like them?”

Derek shudders. His face is so close to Stiles’ chest, he can see tiny dark dots there between the nipples. They are not freckles. “Do you shave yourself?” he asks surprised, placing his finger on the dots, sliding it down.

Stiles’ cheeks redden. “Is it weird if I do?”

Derek hurries to shake his head in denial; hairy chest or not, it’s Stiles’ nipples that turn Derek on. He asks himself: If those exact nipples had been on any other chest, would they turn him on this much? In his mind, he tries placing them on any other and shudders. Ugh, no. It’s only on Stiles.

Stiles sits uncharacteristically still for the second it takes Derek to come to his conclusion. 

Derek’s eyes flick up to the boy’s for the last confirmation that he’s onboard. A redness covers Stiles’ neck. 

Derek holds his gaze for as long as possible as he sticks out his tongue and licks over the nipple—a short, tentative taste, making Stiles’ whole body shudder. The boy is completely silent—huh!

Derek licks again, using the flat of his tongue now, covering the whole nipple for a second before sucking it all into his mouth. It feels so soft, like velvet, but when Derek points his tongue and circles it hard around the middle, the tip of Stiles’ nipple tightens and the boy moans loudly.

Derek retreats to check Stiles’ expression, and what he sees there hits him hard in his guts. The redness on the boy’s neck has crept up to his cheeks, and his usually brown eyes are now almost black with intensity. Stiles wants Derek to do it again, he wants more.

Derek grins widely before going in to give the other nipple the same treatment as the first, satisfaction filling him as he gets exactly the same reaction as before.

“Hngh, Derek!” Stiles moans when Derek breathes on the left nipple; its puffiness is all gone.

“Yeah,” Derek groans, his mouth sucking on the nipple’s tip, pink and tight. He wants to bite it, but first takes time to open the button and zipper of his own jeans; there’s not enough room in them for his filling cock.

As Derek pushes his briefs out of the way, freeing his hard-on, he finally bites Stiles’ nipple lightly between his teeth, pulling back slightly as he closes his hand around his own shaft and starts jerking at it.

Stiles’ hand moves to the front of his own jeans and Derek looks up to see the boy’s face, notices his slack jaw and glassy gaze; Stiles looks just as turned on as Derek feels. 

For just a second, he wishes it was Stiles’ hole he was pushing into while playing with his nipples instead of his own hand, but then Stiles’ hand closes firm over Derek’s, and Derek comes, hunching over. They’re lucky Stiles’ flesh is not between Derek’s teeth at this point, because his reaction washed over him so unexpectedly, it’s like he got punched in the gut.

 

***

 

There’s a point sometime in their future where Derek realizes Stiles quickly learned how to use Derek’s weakness for the boy’s puffy nipples to his advantage; like when they’re arguing and Stiles all of a sudden rips off his t-shirt, making Derek slobber like the Pavlovian wolf he is.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://darkhairedguys.tumblr.com/) and [Pinterest](https://no.pinterest.com/dragontattoo75/).


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